a minister chuckled.

"Well, I'll say good-bye," remarked Mr. Preston, a little later,
when the warning bell had rung. "I guess you'll get along all right.
I haven't seen a sign of Waydell, or any of his slick agents. You'll
have no trouble I guess."

But if the circus man could have seen the "clergyman" at that same
time looking over letters addressed to "Hank Delby," and signed
"Wayland Waydell" he would not have been so confident.

Mr. Preston bade good-bye to his friends, the gangplank was hauled
up, and a hoarse blast came from the whistle of the Calaban.

"Bless my pocketbook!" cried Mr. Damon. "We're off!"

"Yep, off t' git dat big, giant orchard plant," chimed in Eradicate.

"Hush!" exclaimed Tom, who did not like the use of the word "giant"
even in that connection. "Don't tell everyone our business, Rad."

"Dat's right, Massa Tom. I clean done forgot dat it's a sort of
secret. I'll keep mighty still 'bout it."

The Calaban swung out into the river and began steaming down the
bay.

The first week of the voyage was uneventful. The weather was
exceptionally fine, and hardly any one was seasick. The Reverend Mr.
Blinderpool was often on deck, and he made it a point to cultivate